With One Wing
by The Demon's Song
Summary: This is a collection of romantic drabbles. House X Cameron, fluff by the barrel load. Themes so far- blankets, showers, guitars, silence, carousels, gum and more. Next up- Band-aids. R&R, please.
1. Numbness

**Hello. This is my first ever House fan fic, though it's really more of a one shot collection. Tons of fluff because fluff is good.**

**Disclaimer: This applies to every chapter. I DON'T own House. Wish I did, but I don't.**

House's leg had fallen asleep.

Still, when the cause of the numbness was a beautiful woman lying on him, he tended to be a bit more tolerant.

But this was his bad leg, and it hurt, badly. It was rainy, which always made it swell a bit, and he had woken up to a shrill pain in his injured leg.

It was, he mused in an attempt to ignore the discomfort, better than an alarm clock. That was good: he wouldn't be late for work.

If he could bloody get up.

Which he doubted he could.

He counted the dots on the wall, the pairs of socks he had left on his floor, exactly how many times the thunder crashed in one minute.

But it _hurt_.

She was sleeping, still, and House hadn't the heart to wake her. A lock of hair fell over her face, and she was smiling as she dreamed.

She had been an angel, he thought. A perfect angel he would have thought he could never touch.

But she had fallen quite willingly, and he had to say he was glad. It was no fun being miserable if he had to do it alone.

He loved her, he supposed. Not that he would tell her. Not unless she killed him first.

And then he wouldn't be very talkative either, would he?

House rolled his eyes. The babbling was almost as painful as the leg itself.

He could wait a few more minutes.

He watched his toes turn white, then blue, then settle into a shade of purple.

And while the leg bothered him, occasionally, he really didn't want it amputated.

Sighing, he nudged her.

She slept peacefully.

"Oi, wake up," he said quietly.

She slept, still.

Rolling his eyes, he kissed her.

That woke her up.

"What?" she asked as she wrenched her lips away. "What was that, House?"

"Leg."

She looked down, gasped a little, and shifted to the side.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine now."

There was something in his statement that suggested more to come.

"But you know what would make me feel even better?"

And before she had a chance to answer, he caught her lips with his again.

Outside, rain poured down, thunder clashed, lightening filled the sky.

But inside?

He was kissing a beautiful woman, and he could feel his leg again.

Pulling back, he smiled at her.

"Good morning, Allison."

**Okay, this will be a collection of one shots, mostly House X Cameron.**

**I do Wilson X Cuddy as well, though.**

**Well, review if you liked, or if you didn't.**

**No Flames!!!**


	2. Guitar

She had learned to play the guitar because of him.

Not that he'd gone so far as to teach her. No, that wasn't the sort of thing House would do.

Originally, it had been an accident.

It had started late one night when she jerked awake at night and couldn't sleep. She'd not wanted to wake him, but she needed to relax...

And then she remembered that there was always a guitar at his house, somewhere.

She'd found it hanging on a wall in the living room: which was good, because she had not been prepared to handle the mess of the bedroom.

And she had taken it down, and strummed a few notes. Just a quiet chord, nothing at all.

When she returned to the room, he was awake. He stroked her cheek and held her until she slept.

The day after, he had bought her her own guitar. He had told her the names of the notes, and left her on her own with the rest.

She had to give him credit, however, in that he listened to her mistakes. She had been horrendous at the beginning. In silence, he would correct her fingering, her posture. And he would smile at her, tell her to try it again.

In the month since then, she'd progressed a bit. Learned songs rather than chaotic jumbles of notes.

She'd figured, once she started, that it could be useful to learn. That when they could talk about nothing else, they could talk about guitars and music.

It hadn't really happened, however.

Oh, it wasn't that they didn't run out of things to say. It wasn't that she never played for him, or that he never played for her.

It was just that while he was teaching her to play the guitar—in the vaguest sense of the words, admittedly—he had taught her something else as well.

Because no matter how cliché the phrase sounded, no matter how many people used it daily, it was still true.

Silence was occasionally louder than words.

**Review: No Flames.**


	3. Silence

It was midnight, and everything was silent.

He was enjoying the silence profusely. It was as restful as he could get, considering he couldn't sleep.

"House?"

The woman beside him, however, obviously did not like the quiet.

"Yes, Allison?"

He rolled onto his back, looking at her with one eye.

"Did you know there is an enormous crack in your ceiling?"

He rolled his eyes. Did he know? Well, even if he hadn't slept in the same bed in the same apartment with the same ceiling for 15 years, he would have figured it out by the second time she asked.

"Yes, Allison. I know. You've only told me seven times now. Just go to sleep."

Muttering something like, "When it collapses and we die, I'm blaming you," she rolled to her back as well.

Finally.

His silence was back.

"House?"

Or maybe not.

"Yes, Allison?" he asked, gritting his teeth.

"Did you know there is an enormous crack in your ceiling?"

"Yes, Allison. I know. Sleep."

Silence.

Silence.

He sighed. Maybe he liked the silence, but she didn't.

So he sacrificed his own comfort and did the reasonable thing.

"Hey, Allison?"

"Yes, House?"

"Did you know there is an enormous crack in my ceiling?"

**I had to do this chapter :).**

**Well, review, please!!!**

**No Flames!!!**


	4. Blankets

It was cold, and she was colder.

Of course, his heater would have broken on the coldest night of the year. That was just how it worked.

So she really wasn't surprised.

Nor was she especially surprised that her boyfriend was a blanket thief.

Somehow, she had fallen asleep under four layers of covers and woke cover-less next to a giant ball of blankets.

Even in his sleep, he was very territorial. Those were his blankets now, and he refused to share an inch.

She shivered. "Blanket thief," she said quietly to her sleeping boyfriend.

He rolled in his sleep, exposing a square of fabric.

Before her brain even processed how pathetically small it was, she had pounced.

This tiny piece of fabric was her tiny piece of fabric.

Over the next few hours, she slowly unwound him.

Finally, she saw her chance.

With one swift tug, all the blankets came free.

She wrapped herself quickly, reveling in their warmth.

Next to her, he woke up and sat upright, shivering ferociously.

He glanced at her, shivered, and said two words:

"Blanket thief."

**Smiles. Oh, fluff makes Song so happy.**

**Review, please.**

**No Flames!!!**


	5. Showers

She was going to be late.

Of course, this was hardly worth thinking about. She was nearly always late, these days; he had been something of a bad influence.

Still, she was not going to work before she finished showering, so it didn't much matter who's fault it was.

She slipped out of her robe and stood under the quickly warming water.

Time flew by, not that she was paying much attention.

"Allison, I need to shower too."

"Mmm."

She let the water course over her, relaxing her tense muscles.

"Allison?" He poked his head through the door. "I really do need to shower."

"Yeah."

She ignored him with a smile.

That was, she ignored him right until he was pushing into the shower next to her.

"House! What are you doing?"

"We're both late, and I need to shower. Shuffle over a bit."

"House, this shower is hardly big enough for one person and—ow, that's my foot!"

"Yeah, well, your elbow in my ribs isn't too comfy either. Move, Allison."

"We both know you can't squeeze by in that direction—damn it, House, I think we're stuck."

"No, I can still move my—never mind, you're leaning on my hand."

"Right. This was just such a great idea, Greg."

"You just called me Greg."

"Yeah, and why not? No, don't try to run away. You know we can't move."

"Actually..."

"Ow, that hurt, House! I think that brilliant maneuver is going to give me a headache."

"Okay, now I really am stuck."

"Good. Now, why can't I call you Greg?"

"Because you've called me House for years—and Stacy called me Greg."

"Are you trying to tell me you aren't over Stacy yet?"

"No, no. It's just... do you want to use the same nickname for me as my ex did?"

"Well, it's definitely more personal than your last name. Please, House. Just let me call you Greg."

"No—ah! Lean back the other way: you just changed the temperature. God that's cold!"

"I _am_ going to keep leaning this way until you agree."

"Sadist!"

"Leaning now."

"Are you trying to torment me—ow, Allison! Cold, cold, COLD!"

"Just say the magic words..."

"Fine, fine, call me Greg! Just turn up the temperature!"

"How about this?"

"_Too_ _far, too far. Water on fire_."

"Better now?"

"Much."

Silence.

Silence.

He sighed. "Allison?"

"Yeah?"

"Hand me the soap."

**Okay, yet another chapter.**

**These keep popping up in my head at odd moments—ten at night, English class, as I'm drying my hair. Not that it makes any sense, but somehow I've thought of six in two days. That's a record.**

**Well, review.**

**No Flames!!!**


	6. Carousel

She had been going on a morning run when she first saw it.

Surprisingly, she had never seen it before. She had taken the same run every morning for two years: why would she just be noticing it?

However, there it was. Faded paint of gold and blue and red, all turned into pastels by the effects of time. Most of the horses had been stolen; metal snapped right through and taken away for reasons unknown.

But there was some ancient glory to the aging monument. It was like she could hear the laughter and the loud carnival music they always insisted on playing.

From the moment she saw it, Allison Cameron was in love with the old carousel.

She had finished her run, and mostly forgotten about it.

Until, of course, she began dating Greg House.

Three months into their relationship, she decided to run her old path again.

She had been planning to run. Her mind was already racing down the empty path, speeding past the carousel... carousel. Yes, there was a carousel. A lovely old thing. If it only worked...

And suddenly she could do nothing but stare out the window towards her path.

"Hey," he said, noting her odd behavior. "You okay?"

"Yeah... just a bit nostalgic."

"Why?"

It had all spilled out.

"Oh," he said, sipping his coffee. "I remember going on a carousel like that once. It was with my parents, before they got distant...," he realized he was reminiscing and winced. "Sorry about that. Just a walk—or a limp, really—down memory lane."

But she had smiled.

She had memories of her own about carousels. Other than the normal ones from childhood, she had spent her first date on a carousel.

Her boyfriend, at that time, had been rather obsessed with carousels—one of the reasons she had dumped him. Still, he had taken her on a date there, and sat on the horse next to hers. They had shouted to each other over the loud music, and it had been tremendously fun.

She realized how much she wished the carousel still worked.

That whole week, she had hardly thought of anything but the ancient ride.

She awoke on Saturday to her boyfriend, dressed and smiling. "Hey," he said. "Get dressed. We're going on a trip."

She had dressed quickly, sprinted out of the house and slid behind him on his motorcycle.

"Ready?" he asked, smiling as if he had just won the lottery.

"Yeah."

"Close your eyes, okay?"

She complied after giving him a befuddled glance, and pulled her helmet on.

"Here we go, then."

The bike revved once, and then they were speeding down the road.

It was terrifying at first, riding blind, but she soon became used to it. The wind whipped her face and she could feel it coursing through them. Every fiber of her being was there, on the road; it was like the bike had disappeared and she was flying down the pavement.

The bike stopped much sooner than she would have liked, and a hand was offered to her.

"Step down, but keep your eyes closed."

She obeyed, getting off the bike and allowing him to tug her along.

"Step up, here."

She put her foot up, and it met a metal bar.

"Now swing your other leg over."

She did, and found herself sitting on something about the size of a chair.

"Open your eyes."

She did.

A gasp left her mouth, and she smiled at nothing. She was sitting on an ancient horse.

Next to her, he swung up as well.

"Happy?"

"Yeah. I just wish it moved."

"Well, I can do something about that. Close your eyes again."

Smiling, she did.

"Okay, now we're starting to move. It's slow, achingly slow, and everyone is waiting for it to pick up speed. They've started playing the carnival music, loud and just as slow as the ride."

"It's starting to move faster now. Two seats up, a red-headed baby is shrieking, and the kids are smiling."

While she knew, deep within her mind, that she really wasn't moving, another part of her mind felt the carousel lurch under her and begin to move.

"The music is speeding up, and the ride is too. You can feel it moving under you, and it feels like you're spinning with no ride, with just you. You and the air spinning, spinning, like it's a dance. And you feel, somehow, that it could go on forever."

"Some horses are sliding up and down on their poles now. Yours doesn't, but the kid in front of you is on a moving horse and she's giggling away, waving at her parents."

"The music is faster, louder, but you can hear the screech of metal twisting in the core, and yet it doesn't bother you."

"We're as fast as we'll go, now, and some parents are running with the carousel, waving at their kids. The metal is flashing in the sunlight, and the sky is perfect, not a cloud in sight."

"And as you're spinning, all of a sudden smells are hitting you. Someone on your right is wearing too much perfume, and somewhere in the distance there is some sort of meadow or garden, because you can smell the blooming flowers. Kids are laughing, yelling, and the parents are laughing with them, because absolutely nothing could go wrong."

"The ride is slower, now, and yet everyone pretends it isn't. They pretend the ride will never stop, that the world will freeze and they will spend eternity basking in the perfection of the day."

"It's slower, slower. The music is quieting down."

"The ride is stopping."

"Parents get on, and they help their children off the ride and laugh with them. Over there is a cotton candy stand, and all the kids go racing for that stick of sugar."

"Everyone is off now. The music is off, and it's over, yet somehow you feel content."

"Open your eyes."

She did.

And he was grinning at her, mirroring the expression she knew was filling her face. "Did you enjoy the ride?"

"Very much so. You're very persuasive, when you want to be."

"I know."

And just when she thought her day could be no better, he leaned across his horse and kissed her gently.

Eventually, the need for air drove them apart, but their matching grins were even larger, now, and she knew that this was heaven.

"Hey," she whispered to him, resting her forehead against his.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna go on again?"

**I needed to write this, though I have no idea where it came from.**

**Review, please.**

**No Flames!!!**


	7. Vicodin

He looked at the little cylinder of plastic, and a shock ran through him.

It wasn't possible. He had always thought, somewhere in his mind, that he would die holding that tiny plastic thing, lying on the floor in a pool of sweat and vomit.

He had been addicted to Vicodin for years—ever since his leg had been butchered by Stacy and Co.

Even Wilson had been unsuccessful in curing him, try as he might. He had badgered and mothered and cleaned up the messes, and yet somehow, it hadn't been enough.

He had faked rehab, for god's sake! He had smuggled in Vicodin and cheated all of them—even himself—out of freedom.

He had nearly been arrested, he had gone to court, he had overdosed multiple times, and it had never been enough.

Cuddy had forced him off of it—he had spent a week in withdrawal.

But it had never been enough.

And yet, somehow, this had happened.

He glanced once more at the label—because there had surely been a mistake.

No, no, there it was, in bold letters—refill date was September.

But this was late October.

So why were there only two pills missing?

It wasn't like he was using something from his stash. He didn't even have a stash anymore.

Not since Allison...

The thought caught on in his mind, and everything clicked into place.

He had not touched his Vicodin since Allison had moved in a month ago.

And he smiled.

She was next to him, reading in bed.

"Hey," he said, and kissed her forehead.

"Um, hey? What's going on?"

"Nothing." He kissed her again, and smiled. "I just realized something, that's all."

"Well, that's great, but I think I'm going to sleep so I don't catch whatever is messing you up. If you puke during the night, don't do it on me."

"I'm not on anything. I'm in love with you."

Her jaw dropped a good six inches. "Did you just...?"

He chuckled, and caught her lips with his. "Yes," he said, pulling away. "Sleep."

He had turned out his light, and hers had gone off a few minutes later.

Yet even when she was sound asleep besides him, he sat awake.

He had had a revelation.

He didn't need Vicodin, he thought as he looked at the woman next to him. He had a new addiction.

**Okay, chapter seven is finished.**

**For anyone confused about the time line, it works like this:**

**Chapter one is the first night she stays at House's place.**

**Chapter two is basically describing their relationship—they dated for three months and then she all but moved in. She still has her own apartment, but she stays at House's apartment.**

**Chapter three through six all occur after this point.**

**And chapter seven is four months into their relationship.**

**Well, enjoy.**

**No Flames!!!**


	8. Wings

In a world full of angels, House would have been born with one lame wing.

It wasn't, of course, his fault in any way, shape or form. He had just been born different.

Not that it stopped him from trying. He spent all of his childhood trying to be normal, in spite of how different he was and how often he was relocated. He tried to be good; he tried to make friends.

But angels are not perfect, regardless of what people think. He was different, and this set them on edge. No one wanted to be seen with someone different. Someone like him.

By his twenties, he just stopped caring. Screw the rules, he said. Why should I try twice as hard to achieve something I'll never get?

Still, he seemed like a regular angel—from a distance anyway. Until people got close enough, they couldn't tell that he was Odd.

That was how he thought of himself—an odd number in a group of evens. It never quite fits. It has no partner.

Nothing happened to prove him wrong. Angels could only spend so long with him before they shied away. They didn't know why—they had no name for what was wrong with him. No one did. Still, the nameless attribute worked its magic time and time again, and he was alone.

Alone worked, somehow. There are only so many disappointments you can handle before you just give up. He adjusted to being alone, even growing to like it.

Until, of course, he met Wilson. Wilson was indeed an angel in every sense of the word; in fact, he was over-qualified. He was mothering, always looking out for Odds. Wilson made them Even, made them normal. It was what he did.

House, however, refused to be even. He liked being different. He was alone, but he was never forgotten.

Yet, while Wilson couldn't quite make him normal, he wouldn't let him stay alone. House soon found himself introduced to others who would abide his presence.

Cuddy—she was remarkably patient. She knew House was different, but she accepted him because there was a small part of him that was even. One little part of him that did his job better than anyone else could.

And Stacy. Stacy was very nearly Odd herself—a comeback for every occasion and something almost stand-offish about her. Stacy went so far as to fall in love with House.

House accepted her, for a time. After all, she was very nearly Odd—close enough to stay. Close enough to be with him.

But being very nearly Odd is quite different than being Odd, and they both knew it. For all they said and did, Stacy was Even and House was Odd. It was only a matter of time before she left.

And one day, time simply ran out.

House had a decision to make—an important one. Either he could sacrifice his lame wing forever, or he could die.

However, he couldn't see Death's dark angel waiting for him at the other end of the deal. If he did, he told himself over and over that he was different—that he could escape it. There was only one choice for House.

Accordingly, he chose to save his wing.

Stacy chose his life.

After a time, Stacy won. He lost all use of his wing, but he had been spared.

But House didn't see it as such. He had made the decision to save the wing, and even if it had been the wrong choice, it had been his choice. He could never acknowledge what Stacy had done for him. He was Odd beyond dispute, now, and he had never wanted that.

So Stacy did the intelligent thing and left. No matter which choice she made, she knew she would lose the man she loved. So she was content that even though they were apart, he was alive.

With Stacy gone, House had only Wilson and Cuddy. No new angels approached him, crippled as he was—he was alone, for the most part.

It wasn't terribly long until Cuddy found him a team. Three new angels—young and intelligent. To them, it didn't matter that he was Odd. They benefited from working with him, and that was enough.

Foreman—now, he was close to being Odd. It lurked under the surface, no matter how normal he seemed. And eventually, it would come too close, and people would see it.

House pitied him. He knew what it was like to be Odd.

Chase was Even, all the way. Except for his tendency to protect himself before others, he was your average angel. Two wings, and though his past was tragic, he had only a few flaws because of it.

And Cameron. Cameron was beyond Even. She was so Even it hurt. Although she had been damaged before, she was kind and beautiful and compassionate. She was beyond an angel: she was nearly holy.

House distanced himself from her, because he knew that he would only hurt her. He was Odd, and she would pity that.

But when he broke her... he would be worse than Odd. He would be evil.

So he picked on Foreman, tried to get him to go away before he really did turn Odd. He laughed at Chase, so that Chase would have enough spine to be one hundred percent Even. And he stayed the hell away from Cameron so he didn't hurt her.

It wasn't enough, of course. Cameron fell in love with him, a pitying sort of love, and House cursed himself for not letting her go before.

He broke her, like he had expected.

She got over him. She fell for Chase.

And he tried to tell himself that it was alright. They were Evens: they meshed, they matched.

And he was Odd.

But it hurt, pretending, almost as much as breaking her had hurt.

To his surprise, he had fallen in love with an Even.

He hid it. He got rid of them all, collected a bunch of Evens so close to being odd that he couldn't hurt them. He tried to forget.

He couldn't.

And she came back. She tempted him with her perfection, but was always out of his reach.

He fought valiantly to ignore her. But, as others had been telling him all his life, he was different. He couldn't withstand perfection. He was defective.

So he told her. Told her, vaguely, that he loved her. Said he would like to give it one more try.

He had thought her turning him down would help. That when she said no, he could give her up.

But reality isn't that easy. She said no, but it only fueled him on.

He asked, and asked, and asked.

Eventually, she said yes. And he set about doing the one thing he had sworn to never do: get to know Cameron.

He was terribly surprised, however, to find that she wasn't Even. She seemed Even—she hid it well. She had replaced the damaged parts, as if that was enough to eliminate the differences.

She was Odd, just like him. Somewhere along the line, someone—and it hadn't just been him—had broken her.

Cameron was just like him, behind a masking layer of false feathers.

Cameron was an angel with one wing.

They meshed. They matched. And as long as they clung to each other, they could function like they had two wings. They could be normal.

House didn't know if it would last forever. Maybe someday he would regain his wing. Maybe she would regain hers. Maybe they would drift apart and settle for being Odd. Maybe two Odds couldn't match in a world designed for Evens.

But one thing he knew for sure, was that for the first time since his birth, he was glad. If he had been even, they would never have met. If he was even, they would never be together.

So yes, House was different. He was Odd, he was lame. He was an angel with just one wing.

And that was how he liked it.

**Finally, the chapter that explains the title. Yes, this was originally going to be the first chapter, but I thought it might cause confusion. It makes it sound like this fic is about House as an angel, but it isn't. Still, seven chapters should be sufficient to prove that fact.**

**And I know, House didn't lose his leg, nor was he born with a lame leg. But the wing is a symbol more of House's personality than his leg. From what I know, House stood out in his youth anyway, because of his personality, family, etc. The leg was just a physical sign of a difference that already existed.**

**Review, please, but remember:**

**No Flames!!!**


	9. Gum

He had been sitting innocently in his office, chewing a piece of gum and watching his new team bicker in the adjoining office. It was good to have a team again. To have people again.

Because he needed people. Not that he'd ever tell them, any of them. But he had grown to depend on them. All of them. Wilson and Cuddy and Foreman and Thirteen and Kutner and Taulb, but especially...

"Hey."

He spun in his chair, facing the door. There she was; just the person he had wanted to see.

"Hey, love. Why are you here?"

She returned his smile, walking to his desk. "I missed you."

"Fair enough." He stood, closing the distance between them.

She looked at him, laughter in her eyes.

"What?" he asked, twirling a strand of her hair.

"You realize your whole team is staring at us, right?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them. There they were: eight eyes focused on the very odd show of affection in front of them.

But he just laughed and pulled her forward. "Let them watch. God only knows it's more interesting than paper work."

She leaned up and kissed him, still smiling.

And then she was pulling away, somehow retaining the same grin. "Anything is more interesting than paperwork." 

"You left my team for three reasons then—you loved Chase and hated both me and paperwork. Assuming you don't hate me, you could just come back, Allison. I promise there will be no paperwork."

She gave him a look somewhere between thoughtful and impish. "Very tempting; and yet, would my old job offer so many chances at annoying Chase?"

He sighed. "I really have been a bad influence on you, haven't I?"

"Horrible. But I don't care. I'll think about it."

"Good."

The lightness in the air was broken by the beeping of her pager. She groaned.

"I think that's your cue to leave."

"I don't want to."

"Allison, turn around and walk towards the door. I'll see you right after work. Dinner, right?"

"Dinner. The only thing capable of getting me through the day."

"That doesn't look like leaving, Allison."

"Are you that anxious to have me leave?"

"Are you that anxious to stay?"

"You're avoiding."

"And you're procrastinating." He sighed at the obvious role reversal. He was being a mature adult. She had changed him, definitely. "Look, we can't have dinner if you don't work."

He kissed her again, then gave her a slight push in the direction of the door.

"Good-bye, Allison."

"Bye. Dinner. No skipping."

He nodded, then waited for the door to close behind her.

And then he laughed. The eyes were still locked on his door.

He walked through the door, still infinitely amused.

"Hello. What are we staring at?"

"Who was that?" Kutner asked, looking quite goofy with his eyes tracking House's every move.

"That was Cameron. His girlfriend." Foreman said, leaning back in his chair. He had seen this coming years before it came.

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, Foreman, thank you. You've at least proven that you're more useful than the parrot I was thinking of replacing you with. For once, your mouth opens and I'm not just hearing an echo."

Thirteen leaned forward on the table, looking interested for all that she tried to hide it. "Really?"

"Really about the parrot, or Cameron? Because that would be no to the first and yes to Cameron. Now, don't we all have clinic duty to do? Or case-hunting? Or something more fun than digging into the depths of my social life?"

"Now this _is_ interesting," Foreman commented. "For years, nothing was more interesting than digging into personal lives just like yours. And all of a sudden, you want us to leave you alone? Are you saying that lives are fun to mess with—just so long as they aren't yours?"

"If you're calling me a hypocrite, I don't care. Hell, I don't care if you think I'm the Big Bad Wolf. Just so long as we establish that you _are_ still working for the Big Bad Wolf. Now go. Blow down some houses or something."

It was as they were moving to leave that he realized.

"Damn," he said, face flooded by a sort of happy reverence. "Allison _is_ good."

"What?" Foreman asked, hand on the door.

"She stole my gum."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was some hours later when he found her, her eyes fixated on a computer screen as she blew bubbles.

"Hello again, Allison."

She looked up, smiling. "Hello, Greg."

"We have something to talk about."

"Okay... care to fill me in?"

"Cameron, love, you've stolen my gum."

She gave him an innocent look. "Suppose I must have. Sorry. Here."

She kissed him, returning the wad of gum. "There you go. One piece of gum, returned mostly as it was."

He eyed her, amused.

"What?" she asked, giving him a quizzical look.

"Allison, all I said was that you stole it. I didn't say I wanted it back."

With that, he caught her lips again.

And this time, he was the one smiling.

**Review:**

**No Flames.**


	10. Contact

He was not used to casual contact.

Not that he was against displays of emotion. No, he was all for them, considering that he had only recently realized that he actually did have emotions.

But it aggravated him when that display was prolonged.

There it was, the collection of skin, muscle and bone that was bothering him so. It was just there, for no real reason.

And it had his hand captive. He was trying to eat his sandwich, which was proving to be beyond annoying with one hand.

Besides, it wasn't like the gesture really meant anything anyway.

He opened his mouth to voice his discomfort, and ended up deciding it would be better to just bite his sandwich. And he did so, mostly to avoid looking like an idiot for opening his mouth for no reason.

Hand shakes, now those made sense. They were a display of trust, of good will. They were a show of hand strength in some instances. While you were shaking hands, you couldn't draw your sword and run your enemy through.

But he didn't have a sword. And the owner of the offending limb was most certainly not his enemy.

Yet there _it_ was, keeping him from eating in peace. He sighed gently, enjoying his view from the hospital stairs. The view was about all he was enjoying however—he was having far too much trouble with his sandwich to be enjoying his lunch.

Touching someone with your hand could also mean something. A slap or punch for anger, a gentle touch to comfort. So long as such gestures were quick and rare, they preserved meaning.

But this wasn't quick, and he could tell it wasn't going to be rare.

He flexed his fingers slightly, making sure there was blood flow, and opened his mouth again.

And then he sighed once more, biting off another piece of sandwich.

The captive state of his hand could also be a sign of possessiveness. The limb showed that he had been dominated, defeated. It showed that he was practically on a leash.

He opened his mouth one more time, and finally spoke. "Cameron?"

She turned to face him, smiling. "Yes, Greg?"

"Your hand..."

"What about it?"

And then he smiled. So what if she owned him? This was the woman he loved, the woman he would—cliché as it seemed—protect with his life. So he just threaded his fingers through hers and tried not to laugh. "...Never mind, love."

She smiled once more and kissed him before returning her attention to the people passing below.

Yes, he wasn't comfortable with casual contact. And yes, this could well be a sign of ownership. But so long as she was the owner...

His smile grew, and he took a bite out of his sandwich.

...so long as she was the owner, he might just get used to holding hands.

**Again, I had to do it. Hope you enjoyed!!!**

**Oh, just to say—I'm now accepting prompts for chapters. The chapter's title is the title of its prompt. So if you're dropping a review, feel free to suggest one.**

**Please review, and:**

**No Flames!!!**


End file.
